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<title>home from zee by CentipedeTestament (roboticdragons)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22628068">home from zee</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticdragons/pseuds/CentipedeTestament'>CentipedeTestament (roboticdragons)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallen London | Echo Bazaar, Sunless Sea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, just sum gay ocs idk what to say</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:49:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>623</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22628068</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticdragons/pseuds/CentipedeTestament</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>she knows when her love is back from zee, and waits, laden with glass flowers, at the docks.<br/>things are different this time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Female Character/Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>home from zee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Maril knows Allison’s returned the moment her boat graces London’s waters - call it intuition, perhaps, or just blind luck, but when the Captain of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Orchid’s Lie</span>
  </em>
  <span> steps onto shore, Maril is waiting at the docks with a bundle of the boat’s namesake. Well, glass replicas, but a nice gesture all the same.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Usually Allison would smile, zee-worn and shaken but happy all the same. She’d start across the pier at a jog and, once Maril had laid whatever present she’d brought down, collapse into her arms, and whisper pleasantries and milder zee-stories and whatever else came to mind. They’d go back to Maril’s home and catch up, and make up all the time lost to the zee, and love.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Today Allison does not run down the pier to her lover. She does not smile at the orchids, or at Maril. She doesn’t smile at all. Her walk is slow. She’s got a limp now, her left leg carried slightly above the ground and almost buckling whenever she has to bear weight with it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she gets to the end of the pier she still collapses in Maril’s arms, but she’s silent save for the sobs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They leave the orchids by the docks - Allison protested for a moment, but Maril needs both arms to fully support her - and make their way home. She’d had no tissues, so on the way there Maril rips a small square of fabric from her dress and dries the tears (and the blood, she notices with a sharp sting of newfound concern) from her face. They don’t speak. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The couple reaches home a good 20 minutes later and by then Allison is practically being carried, near unconscious. They slump into the flat and Maril lays her on the sofa, gets that lovely flower shawl she crocheted a while ago and covers Allison with it. They’ll worry about changing clothes and getting out the smell of sweat and blood and fear later. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only then, in a safe, controlled environment, does Maril speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll fix us up some dinner then. Expect you must be starving - two months on those dreadful cracker things and not a steak or salad in sight would fester anyone’s appetite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no response from the bundle of blanket, and Maril doesn’t expect one. She busies herself with getting out pans and oil and a long, fat strip of meat from the pantry. Out comes the potatos and the peeler, the flour, milk and eggs. Luxuries. She doesn’t cook toad-in-the-hole often, and admittedly it isn’t a proper one without sausages, but it’s Allison’s favourite.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She feels eyes on her back and turns, smiles at two dull eyes watching from the dark of the blanket. Allison gets in these moods sometimes - when it’s all been a bit too much she quietens, preferring to sit in one place, watch Maril intently and fiddle with her hands, or flap them as if drying them. Maril doesn’t mind one bit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maril beats the eggs and the flour together, humming, and preheats the oven. Her home starts to warm, and she can hear her loves breathing relax. She brings out a knife, her favourite one, and begins slicing the meat into shapes reminiscent of sausages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Allison sobs, sharp and violent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s over there in an instant, peeling back the blanket and drawing her close, muttering comforts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time in two months Allison speaks to her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The meat.” She tries to say more, but her voice is swallowed up by the wailing, and all Maril can make out are 5 words, over and over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The meat and the prophets, the meat and the prophets.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maril stays there, holding Allison close and muffling the desperate mutters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Perhaps they’ll go vegetarian for tonight.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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